


The Thousand and First Face

by aquandrian



Category: Real Person Fiction, Spiritualized (Band)
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/aquandrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Pierce and the cosmos ... or Jason Pierce and the bathtub</p><p>Originally posted at http://aquandrian.livejournal.com/176119.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thousand and First Face

An ice pure cunt, right?  
Washed in waves of chastity  
smooth slide of percale against skin and not-skin  
pale sunshine soft in the dreaming dimness.

There’s a mind somewhere in the slow tumble of sleepsticky sensation, blind and dumb but there … somewhere.

II  
Feel a breath go through this body, waking consciousness of a long long body  
don’t know where it starts, but it’s a slow dull silver wave  
that ripple thin cotton ribs against a limp heavy hand  
slide under the sinking curve of abdomen  
sneak through trails and curls under denim,  
quicksilver lick down tender pale inner thigh … tense, curve that knee  
because it’s a breath of cool white ice that turns flesh to elegance of lines and contours  
the shape of something beautiful, old denim blue and perfect cloud white, a circle of sand and sky over ponderous thud rise thud. Once there was earth.

Salt through blood, salt on the startle sense of mouth.  
A dim species memory, the sea roar loud incessant  
drowned in deep blue silence  
silence pressing in, full of too many sounds to be sensed and nothing at all to be grasped.  
Taste a wave on the deep curve of pale red mouth  
part on the air fragments escaping down deep throat  
Cool not-wet slide of percale under fingers,  
shock slipping sensation against a bare nape,  
like slipping and swimming in a world of roaring sky and leaping spray. Once there was water.

III  
The hero was born in a furnace of action and idea, lusty redfaced brawling animal to be wrestled into an armour of civilisation. A thousand heroes leapt from wombs, rushed headlong into the world mother, gripping their steel and wrenching other flesh to their desires. Scorched the earth, scalded the waters, burnt the air to nothing.

The thousand and first face slits open eyes of deep green blue, circles of sky and sea around implacable darkness. Freckle on his eyelid, flicker of lash against pale sullen skin, whisper of smudge black hair on a sculpted temple, from under a defiant brow, he watches the air turn on sunshine stripped ceiling, turning and turning in the unseeing unmanifest.

He breathes, blinks, and, on his back, travels further faster deeper, soars through the cold ice currents of sky, skims the tops of green trees, glides low and fast over brown hills and yellow sands, sinks beneath the cold waves, white water closing over his seeing face. A christ careless of his kingdom, smudged hair feathering no holy temple, pinned to a cross of ironic apathy, goes to his blank doom.

Only not.

IV  
Porcelain slide against slick white flesh, the heightened numbness of water. Submerged subversion, beautiful body a little too long for this pure womb. Reborn and still uneasy, this breathing mouth curved in half conscious pout, drenched hair stuck to hard temple bone, bored blue green eyes that couldn’t care less but sulk and smoulder anyway.

Stretch in the water, against the artificial earth, in the pale sunshine. Cold air tighten flesh, pores nipples cock, stretch one arm over the curved hard rim, wet curve of taut bare arm, missing that spike, missing that hazed divine bliss. The soaked denim chafes and there’s so much sleek contour of bare flesh through the transparent tshirt. One hand languid on tense upper thigh, so close so close to the ache that’ll never be sated.

Lanky coquette leans back, sets his swollen lips, closes his lovely eyes, and lets invisible disciples perv.

Oh, the spent elegance of him …

The hero of the thousand and first face sleeps his life away.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by spacegirl!dee [](http://batgrrl1980.livejournal.com/profile)[batgrrl1980](http://batgrrl1980.livejournal.com/) and the utterly breathtaking video for _Do It All Over Again_. Yes, you might need to [see the video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loVVK_9fAeo&feature=related) to get the full impact of this piece but then again, maybe not. And, oh yeah,  The Hero With A Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell ... cos he seems to go weirdly well with atheist/agnostic!Jason.


End file.
